Complexities of Power
by WatcherChild
Summary: The corruption of Sauron. CHAPTER 3! An Orc captain seeks to understand his place in Sauron's overall plan.
1. Master and Slave

The Complexities of Power: Part 1 - Master and Slave

Summary: The corruption of Sauron by Melkor. For even Sauron the Deceiver must himself have been deceived.

_"Service in a flagship might be a quicker way to promotion, but there were many crumpled petals in the bed of roses."_

- C.S. Forrester, _Horatio Hornblower_. 

The iron was changing. Morphing. It was becoming something greater under his hands; it was infinitely more complex and beautiful than what it had been before as a lump of ore. He applied more heat, and he watched as the metal glowed a yellow-red as it transformed. 

"There is something graceful about you, Craft-master of Aulë (1). Very pleasing to the eye, in fact." The grip on the metal wavered as the bearer turned in surprise, for though the tall figure was shrouded in a dark cloak, the voice belonged to none other than Melkor, brother to Manwë.

Sauron inclined his head. "My lord," he said respectfully. "To what do I owe this honor?" No sarcasm or malice shaded the Maia's tone. Unlike many of his other kindred, he cared not for the politics that was ripe among the Ainur. Melkor was one of the Aratar (2), and as such, worthy of Sauron's respect.

Melkor pushed back his hood, his bright hair gleaming in the fires of the forge. "I am visiting one of my kinsmen. Surely that is not worthy of suspicion?" The Vala's eyes were filled with slight reproof.

"I meant neither disrespect, Lord, nor disbelief in your intentions." Sauron inclined his head again. "But I cannot deny my curiosity regarding your visit."

"To answer your question, I will say that my curiosity regarding_ you_ is what drove me here." Melkor cast his eyes around Sauron's workbench. "But it seems as if I have arrived at an inopportune time."

Sauron laid his tongs on the table and removed his apron. "No, you have not, my lord, for I have done all I can to this piece of iron today." His long fingers gestured to the cooling mass at his side. "Tomorrow, it will be something else." And although he tried, Sauron could not hide the pride in his voice.

"What is it to be?" asked Melkor. In familiar territory, Sauron explained how this mass of iron would be formed into one of the interlocking parts of a gate. Melkor, nodding with interest, listened carefully until the Maia had finished. Then: "What pleasure will you receive out it?"

Confusion flitted across Sauron's face. "The pleasure of a job well-done, the pleasure of seeing my work serving others. What other pleasures would I receive?"

Melkor toyed with some of the tools on the table. "How does what you have just made benefit you?"

"It benefits others-" began the Maia.

"Yes, yes," said Melkor. He held up prongs and examined them curiously. "But that was not my question."

Sauron gave him a suspicious glance. "May I ask, Lord, the purpose of these inquiries?"

Melkor waved the question away. "Forgive me, for I meant no offense. It was simply an idle question." The Vala began to wander around the forges, his head tilting in a child-like manner as he regarded other pieces of work. Sauron, left alone, watched Melkor for a few moments before clearing his bench. _What silly questions to be asked_, he told himself. _What Melkor needs is a job. Then he will see the benefits received from hard work_. 

From the air around him, another voice whispered, _What benefits? Aulë and the others do not reward you except by giving you more_ _work_. Startled, Sauron looked around wildly, but the only occupant in the room was Melkor, who was idly examining a set of cubes on the other side of the room. 

"What are these?" asked the Vala as he gestured to the cubical objects next to him.

Sauron crossed the room. "Lady Vairë requested them." The cubes were each made of different materials, of stone, glass, and metal. "They represent the three facets to our existence." He pointed to each of them in turn. "Pain, pleasure, and eternity (3)."

Melkor pursed his lips. "Ahh, yes." He turned to Sauron. "What if I were to ask you which one you prefer?"

Sauron smoothed his dark hair. _Pain, pleasure, eternity_. "I prefer them all," he answered finally. "What is one without the others?"

"A good answer; wise in fact." Melkor lifted the cube of pain. "But not a satisfactory one."

"My lord, I must ask again. Why do you ask such questions?"

Melkor chuckled. "Why should I not? Is it wrong to quest for knowledge?"

Sauron felt frustration well within him. "No. But this knowledge – what will you gain from it? What significance do my answers have?" Again, Melkor's eyes probed him in that knowing way. "I feel that you wish for resentment to grow between my master and me."

"My dear friend, the tree cannot grow unless the seed has already been planted." Melkor placed his fingers on Sauron's lips to prevent him from speaking. "I see that your clever hands," and here Melkor released Sauron's lips to grasp the long fingers, "are forced to make things not of your own choosing." He lifted the hands and kissed them reverently. "What wondrous things you could create!"

"What bewitchment are you crafting?" whispered Sauron.

Melkor smiled softly. "It is you who have created bewitchment." He leaned forward and kissed the Maia's lips. "You are as a flame, and I as a butterfly, drawn to the heat unwillingly."

Somewhere, in the fogginess that was Sauron's perceptions, a shred of incredulity mingled with doubt arose. "My lord, I am nothing, a mere creature of the Maiar sent here to serve the Valar."

Melkor stroked Sauron's cheek seductively. "Perhaps that was your original purpose. But now I offer you a new one." He suddenly dropped his hands and strode out of the forge. 

Sauron's cheek burned where Melkor had touched it. It was painful…but also erotically pleasurable. Unwittingly, his eyes fell upon the cubes nearby. 

Melkor returned again a long time after. "Have you an answer for me, Kinsman? Have you given thought to what I have said?"

"What do you speak of, my lord?" asked the Maia uncertainly.

"I am sure that you know of my…disagreements with my brother, Manwë." At Sauron's nod, Melkor continued explaining his plan. When he was finished, he kept his bright eyes on Sauron's face.

"I know not what to say, save that your actions are treasonous against Eru, our master." Sauron backed away from Melkor slowly. "And these thoughts…you have deceived!"

Melkor nodded. "Deception is the key. It is an idea so heinous to our kind that it is wholly unexpected. And the name that you have spoken…he is no longer of any consequence to me. I serve only myself." He shifted forward, the voluminous folds of cloak swirling about him. "Consider what I offer. Here, you cannot create what you wish. Your potential is limited by your own master." He pursed his lips. "I seem to recall your anger at Aulë's new restrictions. Something having to do with Yavanna's pastures." 

Sauron nodded, albeit reluctantly. "She will not allow mining and quarrying in most of the land, and her useless pastures cover some of the richest mineral and ore deposits." The bitterness marred his fair voice.

"If you join with me, you can mine wherever you please, and you may tear down as many trees as you wish. All of Middle Earth shall be your playground, and all its fruits shall be your toys." Melkor raised his arms slightly. "Here, you build pretty little halls of glass and wood. But in my kingdom, you will raise fortresses of stone and steal, places made strong by the fires of your touch." Seeing the desire in the dark eyes of the Maia, Melkor continued. "You will do great deeds. Terrible and cruel, perhaps, but certainly great."

Reason overcame Sauron's lust. "You would ask me to do evil?"

"Evil?" chuckled Melkor. "Evil is a word, nothing more. What you call evil does not exist, and for that matter, neither does good. Only power. I am offering it to you, a reward that benefits _you_ instead of benefiting _others_. And you will receive more than the pleasure of a job well-done, more than having your work serve others. Instead, others will serve you." His voice dropped. "You will be happy. How can that be evil?" With that, Melkor gracefully took his leave, thereby leaving behind a distressed craft-master.

Fragments of Melkor's words hammered at Sauron. _You will be happy. How can that be evil? _

Sauron threw the newly formed gate piece into one of the fire pits.

Melkor visited again some time later. "Have you an answer for me, Kinsman?"

Yet still Sauron wavered, and reason fought against the tide of his long-buried resentment. "But you must steal this power – it will not be given to you. You will all your time fighting to keep it."

"A price worth paying. But rest assured, my kinsman, that a time shall come when my brother will yield. He will bow to me, and I shall take all that is his, what in fact is rightfully mine."

Still Sauron hesitated, but Melkor kept speaking. "There are those who fear, and there are those who cause others to fear. Those who lead quiet, insignificant lives and achieve nothing, and those who are guided by ambition and greed to achieve all that they desire." He gestured outside. "This is my test," said Melkor quietly. "To confront the barrier that Manwë's legend has become to me. I will overcome it, and I will triumph. And all his subjects," he said as the movements of his hands encompassed the space between them, "will one day be mine." He turned to Sauron. "And I will give to you Yavanna's useless pastures, and you will tear the very earth until it screams, and you shall take from it what has been denied to you by your masters."

A long time later, Melkor came to Sauron again. For the last time, the Maia knew, although how he knew he could not say for certain. "Have you an answer for me, Kinsman?"

"If I joined you, I would only be trading one master for another."

Melkor smiled. "It is a fair thing that you ask, and an answer I shall grant to you. 'Tis true, that I would be your master. But I would be a master that would not hold you back, that would not restrain your fires. For I understand that my greatness can only be enhanced if yours is. You would be the foundation of my power – a position most worthy of my undiluted respect, and homage shall be paid to you."

_Respect…what respect has Aulë ever given me? As yet, Aulë refuses to let me create my own things, only what he asks of me. I am chained here_. Briefly, he allowed himself to imagine creating tall and dark things, things of metal and stone. Never would he have to touch glass and wood again. 

"Yes," said Melkor. "No wood."

In delight, he imagined the lands stripped of trees. How Yavanna would weep! "But what things would I create?"

In response, Melkor pulled a baby rabbit out of his cloak. "What do you think of this…thing?"

"One of Oromë's creatures, undoubtedly," said Sauron distastefully. 

"He hunts with spears of wood. But perhaps you could create something more…useful with your beloved metals?" Melkor absentmindedly stroked the rabbit's fur, and it purred contentedly in his skillful hands.

Sauron watched the long fingers stroke the fur. His own pleasure overcame him, and he knew what to make with his metals. "Weapons I can craft for you." Already, images of swords overcame him, swords of steel that would penetrate flesh as effectively as his own hardening member. 

Melkor smiled, his malice seeming strangely seductive. "Good. We shall need those." He dropped the rabbit on the floor, and slowly, he rested his foot on top of the squirming form. "Killing is a messy business, but much of it will have to be done."

Sauron's eyes flickered again, and the lust began to recede. But then Melkor began to press harder on the rabbit, and Sauron watched on, fascinated, as the fear in the tiny rabbit eyes grew_. There are those who fear, and there are those who cause others to fear. _The rush of pleasure was intoxicating.

And when the rabbit finally lay dead, bled and squashed, Melkor turned his bright eyes to the Maia. 

"Have you an answer for me, Kinsman?"

Notes:

- (1) Sauron, like Curunir (Saruman), was one of the Maiar in Aulë's company. 

- (2) The rulers of the Valar, of which numbered nine until the fall of Melkor. 

- (3) A concept from Frank Herbert, which I am unashamedly using here.   
  



	2. Masks of Command

Masks of Command

Summary: Part 2 of the Complexities of Power series. During the construction of Angband, Sauron and Gothmog share a thoughtful moment. Thanks to Haleth for giving me the silliest mental image for this story: A Balrog and an eyeball on a couch drinking beer and watching football. 

Here lies a toppled god  
His fall was not a small one.  
We did but build his pedestal,  
A narrow and tall one.

-From _Dune Messiah_ by Frank Herbert

The stone and metal had been woven together. Like a tapestry of Vairë's, and yet more so, for it was durable and strong, resistant to everything save the combined powers of the Ainur themselves. Above him, around him, below him, Sauron felt the thrum of life in the cold metal and stone.

_Life_. To his forsaken kin, life consisted of living; of breathing and of experiencing joy. Life was a gift from Eru. But to Sauron, life had a different meaning entirely. To him, life was crafted. Life, such as the life he breathed into his fortress. The Valar had smote his beloved halls of stone, but from the ruins emerged a stronger and more beautiful Angband. _Life_. Life, perhaps not the living kind, but life that was crafted.

Sauron ran his fingers down the wall. This room was the last room that had needed repairs, and as soon as he fixed the last remaining bolt to the steel supports, Angband would be complete.

"I have nourished you back to life, my sweet," he murmured as he caressed the wall. "Forget the pain that my kinsmen have forced upon you. Our lord is back with us." And it was true, for Melkor had returned. He had escaped from the clutches of the other Valar and had arrived in the deep pits of Angband, where Sauron had been making secret plans for reconstruction. It had been a shame, really, for the Valar had destroyed two of the most architecturally stunning buildings in all of Arda. Utumno, which had been Sauron's first task, had been a mighty fortress of stone, strong and hidden beneath the eyes of the Valar. Utumno was built into the mountains, where the lights of Illuin (1) were cold and dim; the levels of the mighty fortress had delved far below, close enough to be warmed by the lava beneath. Countless pits, dark and deep, had decorated the fortress, and even Sauron himself had not ventured forth into all of them.

The other fortress had been Angband, sister to Utumno, its much larger counterpart. Angband and promotion to Melkor's second-in-command had been the reward for Sauron's service. It had been designed to be both an armory and the first line of defense against the Valar. It had fulfilled its purpose, for Angband had held back the tide of his self-righteous kin until a good portion of Melkor's followers could go into hiding.

Melkor had been caught, but in retrospect, Sauron knew that it had been for the better. After the capture of Melkor, the other Valar had grown careless in their war. They had destroyed Utumno, and while it was in ruins, countless creatures had survived within its dark depths, and in Angband, Sauron and many of the Balrogs had remained hidden in its lower pits. After all, self-righteousness led to a peculiar sort of arrogance, and the Valar, with Melkor as their prisoner, had not bothered to find the rest of Melkor's officers, nor had they bothered to ruin Angband completely, for they thought that Darkness would disappear if Melkor were gone.

They would pay for their carelessness.

A wave of heat jarred Sauron back to awareness. Turning, he saw a massive figure who wore darkness and flame as a cloak. "Greetings to you."

Gothmog (2) inclined his head. "To you as well." 

_Had any of the slaves passed by and heard their fearsome masters exchanging pleasantries, they most likely would have died of fright_. Sauron attempted to repress a smile at that silly thought. "I take it that you have nothing to do?"

He flashed a dangerous smile. "There are many things I could do – but that would severely decrease the amount of slaves."

"We cannot have that, at least not yet. There is still much work to be done." Sauron reluctantly let his hand drop from the wall. 

"From the looks of it, most of the work is finished. But to defend myself, I just returned from the outer garrison. I decided that the northern gates needed reinforcement, so I was giving some of my lieutenants their orders." 

"From what I know of your 'orders,' I am almost afraid to wonder if your lieutenants are still alive."

The Balrog shrugged. "Orders without the use of force are merely suggestions." He was about to enter when Sauron protectively flung himself in front of the new wall. 

He glared at the Balrog. "Be careful! You might melt the room," he hissed as his sharp eyes detected another small smile within the shroud of flame. It was a private joke between the two that if Sauron ever needed heat for his forges, Gothmog was the best source. 

"Of course," but there was no repentance in the gravely voice. "I will stay out here until you are done fondling that wall of yours."

Not deigning to reply, Sauron lovingly affixed the last bolt. When he was finished, he stepped back to admire his handiwork. "Reborn," he whispered. For a brief moment, he allowed sentimentality to wash over him, to feel the intense feeling of pride at what his hands had wrought. It mattered not what purpose his creations held – for now, they were simply _his_. As nothing else was.

_Twisted glory was all that I saw as I dropped to my knees before you, unknowing and eager, pledging an allegiance only to be severed in the void of voids. I proffered my neck in the eternal symbol of servitude and allegiance as I prostrated myself before you, a sacrifice of an immortal soul clothed in living flesh, warm and pulsing, and I bowed my head and surrendered my soul_. _Then your spirit touched mine, the most intense agony imaginable ripping through all the plains of my existence, and I screamed, a desperate and keening cry never heard even from the most tortured creatures in the dungeons_.

Controlling himself once more, Sauron took a step back. "Let us leave this place," he murmured, his voice devoid of its usual cruelty. Gothmog nodded, and for a few seconds, Sauron thought he saw sympathetic understanding in the Balrog's eyes of flame. Vaguely he wondered if Balrogs ever wept, and if so, of what substance were their tears? Surely not water... 

Reaching the entrance that led to the upper levels of the fortress, Sauron politely held the doors open for Gothmog, an act that caused the Balrog to give his companion an incredulous glance. Sauron sighed impatiently. "Evil being I am be, but even I cannot be evil all the time. But have no fear. I shall not be planting flowers in front of your garrison."

"It would take away from the effect," chuckled Gothmog.

"Indeed." They entered a room that was empty save for the maps covering all the walls. "This room could do with chairs and tables."

Gothmog ignored the maps and went straight toward the window, and after a few moments of hesitation, Sauron followed. The two of them remained in silence, too used to the quiet to find it uncomfortable. Long and dark were the years that both had endured together, and while they could not call each other friends – for in the Dark Lord's service, who could claim such a personal thing as friendship? – they had reached an understanding. Both of them had once been carefree creatures of Eru (3), but both had been molded by pain into separate yet parallel destinies by the one whom they called _master_.

They remained quiet a bit longer, and then Gothmog began to speak of inconsequential things – matters dealing with armaments and the placement of outposts. Sauron allowed the deep voice to carry him along, and he wondered when the day would come that he and Gothmog would turn against each other. They were not fools – Sauron might be higher in the hierarchy of command, but Gothmog would challenge him his place one day. 

_It did not take me long to learn the mockery of loyalty. I am a sharp learner, and the dark path of my life has taught me such lessons as this: how to backstab everyone except the one whom I serve, the one from whom I can derive the most benefit. I learned how to use my gifts of craftsmanship and charisma to manipulate and control those people weaker than myself, and to get what I want when I want. But if the truth is told, what I seek is never what _I_ want but the will of my master. My thoughts run parallel to his, twisted and bled into perfect harmony over the many millennia past_.

"Do you regret…" began Sauron softly.

Gothmog gave him a troubled look – he understood the meaning behind the question, and yet he was terrified of his own answer. 

Thankfully Sauron did not allow him to answer. "I have learned that regret is a dangerous thing, for it begets hope and wistfulness; these sentiments corrode a person like acid on a reactive metal. In the beginning, I faltered, but later on, I managed to catch myself and force my feelings into the deepest recesses of my heart – they were forsaken."

"But not forgotten." The statement was both question and answer.

"In time." They lapsed again into quiet contemplation, until: "I have almost forgotten the feeling of belonging to myself – such a remote concept. But in random and isolated moments, such as when I fixed that last bolt, or when I first apply heat to my beloved metals, I can remember faintly, such as the intangible strains of Melian's songs, familiar and nostalgic."

Again, the flash of understanding appeared in Gothmog's eyes, and Sauron knew instinctively that what was said in this room would not leave this room, and for that, he was immensely thankful. "We have woven pride and pain into an inextricable tangle, and the only way we can prove our loyalty to our Lord is through our suffering." Even Gothmog's voice held a hint of fire.

The logic cleared the fogginess from Sauron's mind. "You are right, of course. Forgive me for being overly sentimental."

"Completing Angband has taxed you," he replied in purposeful misunderstanding.

_I hope the day never comes, Gothmog, when you shall challenge me for the Lord's favor_. Saying aloud, "I would gladly raise several more fortresses for our Lord."

Just then, one of the slaves stumbled in, a disgustingly ugly creature that stank of vile excrement, and his eyes widened to behold his masters. "I apologize, my lords, but I was mistaken in thinking that this was one of the antechambers for weapon's storage." Although his voice was composed, both of them could smell the slave's fear, both of them could see the weak body trembling. _There are those who fear, and there are those who cause others to fear…_

"If you please," Sauron murmured to Gothmog as he stretched out his hand. The Balrog obligingly gave him the whip, and then the Maia seductively approached the frightened slave. He wielded the vicious whip with pleasure, and the screams and pleas of the slave met Sauron's ears with a sort of twisted satisfaction. The hunched figure on the floor shook violently as the anguish of the lashes whipped through every fiber of him. He writhed and thrashed, pleaded for mercy, and begged for the punishment to stop.

But Sauron only smiled cruelly, for he found warped comfort in the infliction of an agony that he himself had been subject to countless times before, and with much greater intensity. The ragged sobs were music to the Maia's ears, and they invoked bitterness as he remembered his own suffering, his own screams. _All I want to do is hurt him more_.

He raised the whip again, his vision remaining clear although his mind had blurred. The scream that filled the room tore at Sauron's spirit, another nameless victim of his long-harbored wrath as it broke to the surface in a wave of terror, pain, and fear – both Sauron's and the slave's.

And when the slave was finally reduced to a bloody mass on the floor, Sauron turned back to Gothmog, who eyes were filled with that same sympathetic understanding.

Notes:

-(1) One of the lamps of the Valar, the northern counterpart to Ormil. Destroyed by Melkor lonng before the Elves journeyed to Cuivienen.

-(2) In early Quenya, his name was Kosomot, but the Noldor renamed him Gothmog. I have chosen to stay with that name to keep it parallel to the rest of the story.

-(3) Iluvatar.


	3. A Gracious Exit

**A Gracious Exit**

Summary – Part 3 in the Complexities of Power Series. An Orc captain seeks to understand his place in Sauron's overall plan.

* * *

_"Control the coinage and the courts—let the rabble have the rest." Thus he advises you. And he tells you: "If you want profits, you must rule." There is truth in these words, but I ask myself, "Who are the rabble and who are the ruled?"_

- Frank Herbert

* * *

**_Year 1100 of the Second Age - Mordor_**

_It had been over a millennium since the fall of Melkor. The legend of Melkor spoke of a dark master whose memory to this day struck fear into the hearts of not only Elves and Men, but also the Orcs that were created by him. His dark powers surpassed those of his kin not only in ferocity but also in cunning and sophistication. Melkor's legacy left an immense amount of carnage, death, and hardship for the free people of Middle Earth. It had been one thousand years since his rule had ended, ten centuries without real terror in Middle Earth...until now. Sauron was ready to take his master's place._

"It is to our advantage that the Elves were so stupid," commented Grezbar idly. The Orc captain stood on one of the ramparts of Durthang (1) as he waited for his master to appear. 

Harsha, his lieutenant, grunted in agreement. "This land is the most defensible location in Middle-Earth – well, whatever is left of it from the First Age. The Elves, in their fear of smoke, fire, and darkness, have left this place to our master."

Several centuries ago, Sauron, who had scouted all of Middle Earth, had decided upon the lands bordered by the mountain ranges the Elves called Ephel Dúath and the Ered Lithui. The land's best feature was a temperamental volcano; Sauron used the fire that welled there from the heart of the earth in his sorceries and his forging (2). In the south and west lay lands that contained a few scattered tribes of wild, lesser men, who had so far proven quite amenable to Sauron's machinations.

Grezbar looked over the plains of Gorgoroth. In the distance, he could see the Fire-Mountain (3) simmering, and beyond that, the dim shape that was slowly becoming Sauron's tower, Lugbúrz (4). Durthang was high enough on the mountain slope to give him a good vantage point of almost the entire land. To the south, he could see the fertile lands of Nurn, and to the west, he could faintly see where Gorgorath became Lithlad, the ash planes under the mountains. Slowly, Orcish engineers were constructing a place worthy of their master.

It was a shame, thought Grezbar, that the other races held such contempt for Orcish intelligence. Though Sauron bred the majority of his Orcs to be smart enough only to bear arms and follow the orders of their masters, there were a smaller number of Orcs who could read, write, converse, and most importantly, implement Sauron's wishes.

During the First Age, this smarter breed of Orcs had not been necessary, for Melkor had several Maia in his service, from Balrogs and vampires to Sauron himself. But the War of Wrath had resulted in the decimation of almost all of Melkor's allies. Only Sauron remained, and he, deprived of everyone except himself, had rebuilt the dark army using what he had available to him. For as mighty as he was, he could not manage everything on his own. He needed officers whom he could trust. Elves had briefly been a possibility, but they were too difficult to corrupt and harbored an innate hatred of everything Sauron stood for. Men were easily corrupted but also undependable. They were liable to serve him one day, and the next day, they would serve someone else. But Orcs – there was no question of whom they served. Though they were low in intellect, Sauron had applied all his knowledge of selective breeding and sorcery to bring forth Orcs who could think for themselves.

Grezbar and his lieutenant were such servants, and throughout Sauron's new kingdom, there were a few more like Grezbar, who possessed enough intellect to know exactly whom they served, and what following their orders meant. Orcs like Grezbar could _understand_.

With this ability came the power of perception. Grezbar knew Sauron was evil, as far as his understanding of evil stretched. He knew why Elves and Men hated his kind, and he realized that he was only a tool in Sauron's greater dream.

And yet…Grezbar also realized that only in Sauron's service could he act out his baser nature. He could not help that his race was one bred for cruelty and terror, and in fact, that was what he was encouraged to be. Perhaps such behavior could be unlearned, but Grezbar also understood that the freedom to be himself, even if he was only a reflection of Sauron's will, lay with his master.

Sauron had known that a servant who understood his purpose was far more useful than several mindless ones who would do what they were told as long as their desires were satisfied. But Sauron was also aware of the fact that too much intelligence could prove deadly, and so he kept the number of Orcs like Grezbar small, so that even if the small minority of officers threatened Sauron's power, there was an even greater amount of mindless soldiers who would still respond to Sauron's bidding.

But this precaution was an unnecessary one. No Orc could ever forget that Sauron was their true master, even if there were several officers in between. For Sauron's malice was written upon their very flesh.

Grezbar was roused from his musings when he heard a door open. Both he and his lieutenant stood at attention as their master strode onto the walkway between the ramparts. "Ah, Grezbar. Thank you for making such haste." Sauron was clad in rich velvet robes, which meant he had been holding court with the eager-to-please wild men from the east. But the captain was not fooled by the fair visage of his master. Sauron could don many forms and many faces, and it was foolish to forget that.

"We arrived as soon as possible, my lord."

Sauron leaned against to stone rail. "Tell me, how is construction progressing at Lugbúrz?"

"On schedule, my lord. I have brought progress reports for you."

"No, I need not read it. I can see how it goes from here." Sauron flashed a small smile. "My eyes can see far."

Grezbar did not doubt that Sauron could see the tower from here. That was another reason why there was no point in deceiving him. "We have begun mining for another source of iron. Our current mine will not provide enough output for both Lugbúrz and the Black Gate."

His master nodded. "Where?"

"One of the mining captains has discovered that there is a place near the mountains of the tower. He hopes that the quantity of iron is sufficient. If that is the case, then this new mine can supply Lugbúrz, and the old one can keep supplying your other projects, my lord."

"Have those progress reports sent to my office." Grezbar looked at Harsha, who nodded. "By your leave, my lord, I will have the information you requested delivered."

Sauron waved his hand, thereby dismissing Harsha. "Walk with me, Captain." Grezbar fell into step beside his lord. "You have served me these past many years faithfully, Grezbar."

"To serve you has ever been my greatest wish." Unsure of where this conversation was going, Grezbar sneaked a look at the Maia. It was useless, of course, for Sauron never gave any hints.

"Surely you have other dreams, other desires, than to toil here endlessly, with no reward in sight?" His master shifted his bright eyes upon him, and Grezbar fought to keep his voice steady.

"My lord, if I may be frank?"

"You may."

Grezbar looked ahead again as they moved through the ramparts. "I am no simple Orc who measures his life by his treasures and the heads he has hewed. You have chosen me as your captain because of this reason." Sauron said nothing, but the captain felt his master's eyes upon him. "I crave other things, my lord."

"Such as what?" Sauron led him to a door that opened into one of the map rooms.

"I have as ever craved recognition in my duties for you, lord."

Sauron paused mid-step. "That you already have, Grezbar."

"Yes, I know. And so to answer your question, my lord, I need no other reward than the honor you bestow upon me with your continued trust." Grezbar was surprised to see a gleam in the Maia's fire-bright eyes…was it sadness? But he was unfamiliar with such emotions, and so he dismissed the notion.

His master suddenly touched his shoulder, and it was the years of discipline that kept Grezbar from jumping in surprise, for Sauron was not one for physical contact. But Grezbar felt warmed at the touch, and for a brief moment, for the first time ever, he felt a sense of _kinship_ with Sauron. A sort of shared grief and understanding, though what exactly that understanding was, he did not know.

But then his hand fell away, and that moment was lost. "Have you heard the rumors?" asked Sauron as he moved to a chair. With one hand, he gestured towards the one opposite him.

The captain sat gingerly, for it was rare for him to sit in the presence of his lord. "Rumors, my lord?"

"Yes, about your line of Orcs."

Grezbar nodded cautiously. "I have seen that there are fewer and fewer Orcs like me."

"Yes. Did you wonder why?" prodded Sauron.

He thought about how much to reveal and then decided on honesty. "The question did occur to me, but it was not my place to ask, sir."

Sauron's brow knotted in deep thought. For a few moments, the room was silent, but it was a silence borne not of fear, and for that, Grezbar was grateful. Although he was one of Sauron's highest-ranking officers, he still had a healthy dose of fear for his commander.

Finally, "I have not the power to make more like you." Briefly, Sauron explained that Orcs like Grezbar could not simply be bred – there was a fair amount of sorcery involved as well. "My strength is pushed in too many directions. Lugbúrz, the strengthening of this land, my plans in the east…I cannot continue making more of you without hindering my other projects."

Grezbar supposed that he should have been insulted, but that was not the case. He understood his place in this world, and it was soon coming to an end. "But once we die out, who will continue in our place?"

Sauron steepled his fingers. "I have some ideas, and in time, they will come to fruition. I will make myself more servants like you yet stronger. But that will take time and energy, which I cannot spare until Lugbúrz is completed."

Once again, Grezbar should have been offended, but how could he be in the face of such bare truth? Sauron would need stronger officers who lived longer and had powers of their own. "But will you manage until the time comes?"

"I shall keep making you until I can no longer. If all goes as planned, then my new servants will be ready." Sauron passed his hand over his eyes. "Grezbar, if I could, I would make you immortal, but I have not mastered such sorcery just yet." His hand fell, and the captain was surprised to see the sincerity in his master's eyes. "There are few in this world who could ever offer me such loyalty. It grieves me – although it should not – that in the future, I shall have to rely on bewitchment and enslavement for the devotion you so freely give."

"Master, you cannot mean that!" he cried. "For every being in this land has a heart that can invite darkness. Surely you will find willing followers."

Sauron's eyes became personably blank again. "It matters not, for no one shall resist me."

The interlude was over as suddenly as it had begun, and now Sauron shifted the discussion to military matters. But for that one brief moment, Sauron had spoken to him not as his master or commander, but as a friend. And for people like Grezbar, who were gifted with a higher degree of intellect – and thus with more complicated emotions than lust and greed – this interlude was most welcome.

Furthermore, Grezbar knew that in reality, it was Sauron who had needed a friend at that moment. His master had no one else, for Melkor, Sauron's own lord, was shut in the endless void, and all of Sauron's peers were there with him. Who did Sauron have now, save Grezbar?

The captain felt grieved for the first time in his life.

Not for himself, for he had nothing to grieve for, but for Sauron, who would be alone once Grezbar and his kind died out. For his master's sake, he hoped that the new servants would serve Sauron with the same loyalty he himself had.

* * *

_In Sauron's later years, when he would think back upon all his deeds, he would forever hold the creation of Grezbar and his kind among his highest achievements. _

_ For Grezbar was proof that evil was not alwayt blind – nor was it always cruel._

_

* * *

_

- (1) Durthang – A castle that lay on the slopes of Ephel Duath in Mordor.

- (2) From _Of the Rings of Power and the Thirld Age._

- (3) Orodruin, also known as Mount Doom.

- (4) Lugbúrz – The Black Speech – "Dark Tower," otherwise known as Barad-Dûr.

- The Nazgul first appeared in 2251 II. This means that Sauron must have had help from others to manage Mordor and his armies, especially since he himself was busy seducing Elves in Eregion and Men in Numenor. But the concept of "intelligent" Orcs is purely fanon, although I hope it is a reasonable one.


End file.
